Holding Onto You
by x-menobsessed26
Summary: When a life built between two mutants gets torn to shreds, how can trust, love, and determination save them? AU. Rated M for a reason. Pre-X-men
1. Chapter 1

[early 1965]

She was running, racing through the fallen leaves of the oaks and maples, the elms and paw paws, rushing by as her burning legs picked up speed. Her breath came in sharp pants, visualized by the white mist it created in the cold autumn air. Her naked skin was continually scratched and gashed by sharp branches and hidden briars as her fiery hair seemed to catch every piece of loose vegetation it passed.

Her heart pounded, and not just from the unexpected exercise. She thought she's lost her pursuers a while back, but was afraid just in case. However, she was still getting tired, not being used to such exertion and she feared falling back enough for them to catch up to her.

Her body burst through a line of dense trees and suddenly she was falling. The trees had blocked sight of a cliff which she plummeted disgracefully over. She stretched her arms out in a futile and involuntary attempt to save herself and slow her descent. Along with the loud howl of the wind, she heard a piercing scream fill her ears, vaguely recognized as her own.

She was about to hit the green grass below when everything went black.

* * *

Jean Grey woke with a gasp, her body jumping forward a bit. She yelped with pain when she hit her nose on the ceiling and grunted when she hit the stone hard cot they mercifully called a bed. Tears filled her eyes from the pain in her nose as warm blood began to flow slowly down her face.

The room was light through the small window she was given in her cell and by the amount of it, she guessed it was about eight o'clock in the morning, just in time for her to wake. The door swung open suddenly and a blonde nurse stepped into the room, gasped at the bloody scene Jean was sure she provided, and stepped back out again a moment later, her rapidly retreating footsteps echoing down the minimum security hallway.

Jean squeezed her eyes shut and her tears this time were from shame and anger. Mostly anger.

She would be put back with increased security for this, she was sure. It wasn't her damned fault though! They just couldn't understand that!

A sob escaped her lips which she clamped closed in response, ignoring the salty taste of her blood and tears on her mouth. Jean didn't want to hear these voices or make things levitate! They just...did.

She didn't want to be the family freak and disgrace. She was just born that way!

The doors opened again, except instead of the nurse Jean couldn't remember the name of, in her place stood Dr. Ezekiel Fina and two hefty security guys, one holding a straightjacket. Dr. Fina kneeled down in front of Jean, took her chin in his hand, despite her efforts to move away, and said, "You need to go to the infirmary. Will you be a good girl so I don't have to get forceful?"

She nodded and stood slowly, continuing to cry softly.

"We have a new medical doctor today, Jean. Dr. Oliver retired, so in his place is Dr. Elizabeth Green. I'm sure you'll get along wonderfully," her head psychiatrist explain with a cheer in his voice as fake as the hair on top of his head. She silently debated whether the degrees and certifications hanging in his office were real.

She was lead from her pale pink cell to a stark white hallway with blinding artificial lights and badly patterned carpet where they walked for a bit, made a couple of turns she barely registered, before opening a wooden door. The frosted glass on it had read in newly labeled black lettering 'Dr. Elizabeth A. Green, M.D.'.

"Dr. Green? This is Jean Grey."

Dr. Green was not what Jean had been expecting. Most of...well, all of, the doctors she had seen, whether since she had been here or before her admission, were frigid, stone-faced know-it-alls who would diagnose her with a disease at least ten letters long and prescribe her a boat load of pastel colored pills to keep her under control (all of which her family thankfully refused to endorse).

However, Dr. Green was a kind faced middle aged woman with bottled brown hair and sweet eyes the same shade, "Hello, Miss Grey. Please, come in."

She motioned to a seat, her eyes fixed on Jean as she replied over her shoulder, "You three can leave."

The men hesitated, looking at each other for a moment before Dr. Fina spoke, "Um, Dr. Green? You do realize what you're doing, right?"

Another tear fell down Jean's left cheek at his reply. None of them had any idea what they were doing anymore than she, but their empty, misunderstanding words hurt her.

"Yes, I believe I do. This is a girl who has made significant progress from what I can see in her file and had a small accident this morning. Nothing to worry about as far as I can tell, so why don't you leave me to my patient and be on your way?" she asked, though the tone of her question left no room for debate.

Obediently, though reluctantly, the three men backed out and shut the door.

"Are you going to analyze me?" Jean asked with a bit of heat in her tone.

Dr. Green laughed, "Dear, I'm a doctor and a very curious one at that. I analyze everyone."

For some reason, Jean relaxed a bit at her words and her tone became less threatening, "I've broken my nose before. It doesn't take that long to fix."

"No, but with the accident, they decided to let us get on with the appointment they had scheduled for this afternoon. Now we can talked until 10:30," she said with a smile.

"But first you'll fix my nose?" she asked hopefully.

"Of course!" her eyebrows narrowed a bit. "Does that not happen here?"

"It does, but I was just wondering," she lied.

The doctor's eyes widened a bit as she spotted the bad lie, but she ignored it and continued to move about in order to fix her nose. It took about ten minutes with Jean's constant flinching.

Dr. Green smiled, "You don't have much of a tolerance for pain, do you?"

Jean shrugged.

Dr. Green sat in a desk chair opposite Jean, who was still seated in hers. She picked up the young girl's file and began to leaf through it, "Like I told those men, you've made remarkable progress here, whether they let you know it or not."

"How?" she asked, genuinely interested. It wasn't often she got to hear much about her condition, other than to slam whatever claims she had about hearing voices and levitating objects. Even as she sat there, Jean could hear the buzz of voices begin to build again. She quickly slammed a self-made mental wall down on them and silence was bliss.

"Catatonia is nasty and you had a particularly severe case, keeping you catatonic for almost three years. When you did come out, it wasn't for long and you were always screaming about voices and levitating things. It's remarkable that you managed to come out at all, not to mention with an extreme level of apparent sanity and intelligence, especially for a seventeen year old."

Jean cocked her head, "Did you just say I was sane?"

"I did," Dr. Green removed her glasses and set them on the desk. "I have a confession to make, Jean."

She stiffened and Dr. Green waved her hand with a smile, "Oh, nothing like that, dear. Actually, my confession has to do knowing what is wrong with you, or rather, what is right with you. You see, Jean, you are a mutant."

"...huh?" So much for intelligence.

"You are a mutant. You know about genetics, yes? (Jean nodded) Well, there is an extra gene in some people called an X-gene. That gene has existed for a long time in many people, but grew in numbers and still laid dormant. Now, they are beginning to emerge. X-genes usually activate one of three ways. 1.) They are born activated. 2.) A tragic or otherwise scarring event, like what happened with Annie, could draw a dormant gene out or manifest it early. 3.) Puberty will take care of it and it will manifest with it is ready during that already difficult stage. Keep in mind, that it doesn't activate in everyone and most people will not every manifest."

"So these voices...they're part of a...mutation?" Jean tested the word.

"Yes. More specifically I believe you are telepathic and a telekinetic, a powerful one if I'm not mistaken."

"What are-"

"Telepathy is essentially the ability to read people's minds and telekinesis is the ability to move and manipulate matter with your mind, though you obviously know it's a bit more complicated than that," Dr. Green winked.

Jean's green eyes widened, "So these voices were actually voices of people! Just inside their heads?!"

"Precisely. Miss Grey, you are a perfectly healthy young woman, though I have to confess once more that telepaths have a sort of affinity for insanity, so you must be careful! Other than that, some morals would do you well in learning as well as simple control, to which I have a friend who can help you and-"

"NO!" she screamed. Lowering her voice for fear of attracting the attention of security, she continued, "No! I don't want help, I don't need it! I just want to...get out!"

"What will you do if you get out, Jean?"

Jean's eyes filled with tears as she thought of the terrible things that had happened within these sterile walls, "Run."

Dr. Green wanted to ask more, but she knew the truths behind this facility, having been told such by her telepathic friend when she was sent here. Regardless, she made up her mind then, "Where would you run to?"

"North...but I'll see where the roads take me. I just want to be free, Dr. Green!"

"I'll help you. My friend will probably roast me, but you're in no state of mind to be forced to go anywhere and I'll be damned if I let you stay here. I have a bag ready for you. Are you sure you want to run?"

Hope blossomed in her chest, "Positive. Thank you, Dr. Green."

"You're welcome. Good luck, Jean Grey. Oh, and please, Dr. Green was just an alias. Call me Moira."

Jean smiled, "Goodbye Moira."

Five minutes later, she walked out of Redwood Psychiatric Hospital dressed in actual clothing and, running down the street, she laughed. Though it was spring, not autumn, and she was running down the road and not the forest, Jean was escaping and she couldn't be more happy.

* * *

**This is obviously, as stated in the description, a huge AU overhaul. It will get crazy, but will also fit in with the 'X-Men' (2000) storyline...eventually. I seriously have no idea which corner of my brain these psychotic AU's like to come from, but hell, if the comic-verses can pull this crap, I sure as hell can.**

**I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it. There will be more to come so please review and follow! Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 2

[Three years later]

Jean was tired.

She had told Dr. Gr-Moira, that she would run. She hadn't been lying. She'd been running for three years, stopping only for maybe a couple of weeks at most, once for nearly two months, and she was tired of it.

The year was 1968, and she was unable to enjoy anything people her age were allowed to enjoy for fear of being caught. She shivered. Being caught was probably the worst thing that could have happened to her. She would have rather spend the rest of her life selling her body and living on trash than be sent back to Redwood. Despite Moira's claims that her friend was nice and wanted to help her, she didn't believe it.

Her own father hadn't wanted to help her. She doubted anyone would.

Well, that wasn't true, despite her tendency to drift toward cynicism. Many of the people she encountered over the last three years had been more than willing to help her out in small ways, even if a few of the people she met did nothing more than make her life hell.

Even as Jean sat there thinking, she was being helped. She was sitting in the cab of a large semi-trailer next to a man whose stomach was a few sizes bigger than his shirt size and always smelled slightly like spearmint and stale beer. Despite his burly appearance with his unruly beard and dark eyes, he was actually an extremely nice, albeit lonely, man who had been quick to give her a cross country ride.

She had been in Western Nova Scotia when she'd met Nick. She'd learned, ashamedly using a bit of telepathy, that he was headed to South-Eastern British Columbia. Eager to have a companion for a week or so long drive, because they're human and need to sleep.

It had been six days, and their journey was almost over. He pulled into a bar parking lot and looked over at her, "This good for you, Girl?"

Jean grinned and nodded, "Yes, thank you."

His eyes turned sad and he patted her shoulder, "Good luck."

"You too."

She lept from tall cab and landed neatly on the pavement, slammed the door shut, and waved as he took off. Summoning a harder edge to her twenty year old face, she turned and looked at the town, if you could call it that. She could probably count with her fingers how many buildings were in this town without a visible name. The bar's name was obvious, however, with a neon green sign proclaiming this dive as "The Barnyard".

Looking closer through the falling snow, she could just make out the worn, wooden signs of "General Store", "M_rci_'s Di_er", and "Bookstore". She didn't know what surprised her more. That this Marcia wouldn't care that her name was falling off of her business or that they actually had a bookstore. Still, the bookstore wasn't where she wanted to head.

The bar was.

She set out toward the large building, pulling the collar of her shirt around her neck.

When she entered, there were three people within the warm space, including the bartender. The two customers were chatting quietly to each other and the bartender was wiping down the grimy counter with an equally grimy rag. He looked up at her entrance and was immediately wary of her.

She wasn't surprised, and was in fact amused. It never changed. Outsiders were never welcomed. At least, not right away.

Still, she put on a nervous smile and widened her green eyes. She tightened her stance, but not aggressively. Jean played the part flawlessly, with years of street practice. Slowly, tentatively, she walked toward the bartender. He wore a name tag reading Paulie, though she was sure in the last five years no one had needed the nametag to know his name.

"Who the hell are you?"

Aggressive, but more from general wariness than an attack on her. That boded well.

"My name is Jean, but I prefer being called Red."

He huffed, giving her hair a glance, "Can't imagine why. What the hell do you want here? You definitely ain't old enough."

"I was wondering if you wanted some...help," she said, dropping her innocent mask for a moment to show her disgust at the environment.

Though red hot anger flashed over his gaze for a moment before it softened just as Jean put the mask back up, "Actually, I could. I hope you're not expecting to make lots of money, but you could also room upstairs."

She grinned a little mischieviously, "Perfect."


	3. Chapter 3

[Four months later...]

Jean was reaching into the cooler to pull out an ice cold Molson when she heard the familiar crash of breaking glass. _Shit!_

She turned and heard the accusing laughter of the drunkard's friends, who were slightly less drunk than him, as he pouted pathetically after the pint he'd dropped. She sighed and applied her winning smile, "Don't worry about it Benny! I'll clean it up."

Benny just nodded and continued to pout, looking nearly on the edge of tears. Paulie nodded his head toward the broom and dustpan, "Take a-"

"-rag too. I know. I've been here a while," she smiled.

Paulie smiled back, "Not too long."

Jean walked over to where the glass had fallen, in front of the bar itself, in between two seats. Benny's had been vacated and in his place, as his friends tried to quickly walk him out before he could embarrass them with his tears, was Marshall Iser, local dick, frequent drunk, and all around asshole.

"It's kinda chilly out there, ain't it, Red?"

She rolled her eyes as she swept the floor, "Of course it is. It's January in Canada."

"Who cares?"

She didn't reply.

"Do ya need someone t'help keep ya warm t'night?"

"Nah, that's what liquor, blankets, and books are for. Oh, and possibly the fireplace conveniently placed in my bedroom."

"No need ta be so bitchy, Red," he laughed. He then slapped her ass as she leaned over with the rag. "Jus' a bit's fine fer me."

Anger rushed through her, scarlet, sharp, and fiery. Small pieces of glass began to slowly rise in front of her face, but thankfully everyone was too occupied laughing at his poor joke that she could get everything under control, relaxing her mind.

Unfortunately, in relaxing her mind, it left her body incredibly vulnerable, which Marshall inadvertently used to his advantage, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her to him. He tried to kiss her, but the palm of her hand was faster and a loud slap hit his face, leaving an impressive growing pink mark on his cheek.

"You fucking _bitch!"_

Marshall hit back, hard. His drunkenness didn't mess with his fighting skill as much as it would a normal human, probably from much of the practice his uneven nose showed. His fist cracked her alongside her head, sending her flying into the counter, head connecting with a crack. A flash of black and glittery colors flew over her eyes before it cleared, but not in time. A sharp kick met her ribcage once, twice, three times, bruising if not cracking a rib or two.

She cried out, mutation useless as horror and shock over what was happening filled her. It was the last thing on her mind. Jean curled in on herself, warm blood trickling from the side of her head and onto the floor in front of her. It didn't stop him.

Marshall grabbed her red ponytail and pulled her to her feet. Two of his friends grabbed her arms, holding her in place while he punched her in the gut, definitely breaking a rib that time. She screamed.

"Quit it, Marshall!" Paulie shouted.

"Ya gonna stop me?" he snarled, holding Jean's face in a vice grip while he looked her over. "You ain't never stopped nobody before."

Paulie faltered. He was a big guy, but he wasn't very strong and Marshall had always had brute strength and quite the rage. Paulie was gruff, but non confrontational. He didn't stand a chance.

With a grin, he turned back to Jean and hissed in her ear, "I'm gonna take ya somewhere. Somewhere you ain't gonna enjoy, girlie. I'm gonna fuck the shit outta you and when I'm done, I'm gonna kill ya. How'd ya like that?"

She groaned weakly, eyes squeezed shut from the pain in her gut.

"Let her go."

It wasn't loud, but the commanding growl cut through the commotion like a plane through the sky.

Marshall stumbled around to face the man who spoke, "What the hell d'ya think yer doin'? You betta leave me the fuck alone."

"I'm not leavin' 'til I have her."

Jean opened her eyes just a crack. She instantly recognized him. He was a fighter and a loner, known as Wolverine by the town. Most were scared of him, but she wasn't. While he was rough and short, he was always respectful to her while he stayed on his stool at the far corner of the bar, chugging beer like water.

Though he had been drinking since three that afternoon, it being around eight at night now, he didn't look the least bit drunk, and he was clearly ready to fight Marshall.

That also registered with Marshall. With wide eyes, and a shaky tone, he asked, "You gonna fight me?"

Wolverine shrugged, "Maybe, but ya don't seem worth it. Just give me the girl."

"Like hell!"

Marshall took a swing at him and Wolverine acted fast, punching back. He hit him in the face with an almost metallic sound and sent him flying into the man holding Jean's left arm. The man holding Jean's right dropped it with surprise, allowing Jean to drop to her knees on the floor.

Marshall took to stand again, his broken nose to bother in his beer induced numb and adrenaline. He was going to charge back, but then his eyes widened to the size of soccer balls, along with most of the bar.

With a _snikt!, _Wolverine popped metal claws, about a foot long long in length and there were three on each hand. It looked painful, but Jean was more worried about Marshall and his gang.

Like the coward he was, Marshall ran out of the building, his gang following closely, which included about half of the bar. Many trucks started outside and drove away. Wolverine grinned ferally as he slipped the claws back inside his arms. Paulie reached for a gun he kept over the bar, but Wolverine raised his hand.

He came over beside Jean and picked her up softly. She groaned.

"It's okay, Red. You'll be okay. You just need to focus."

Her ironic laughter was the last thing she heard before she passed out.


End file.
